


Outback Highway

by helo572



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Party, Fireworks, Friendship, Platonic Relationships, they.... watch one from afar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8998405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helo572/pseuds/helo572
Summary: A rest stop on Junkrat and Roadhog's trek to Sydney includes a fireworks display. Both involved are varying degrees of fascinated.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a Christmas present for a good friend who loves Roadhog and Junkrat - wanted something Christmas-y!

The road stretches on before them, disappearing under the tyres of the Junker-branded chopper motorcycle. Junkrat perches himself precariously on the seat of the sidecar, on his toes, knees collected neatly by one of his arms, and the other works through a tub of yogurt stolen from the town over. A pitstop, on the way to their final destination -- Sydney.

 

It’s only a small tub, he discards it over his shoulder into the night, then grins up at Roadhog while innocently sucking on his coated fingers. “Y’got any more of that strawberry one?”

 

Roadhog eyes him briefly before casting his gaze back out to the expanse of the road. Desert turned to country the more they drive, until eventually towns became populated enough to steal a generous amount of supplies from stocked general stores, and hold up petrol stations while they refuel.

 

Around the fingers in his mouth, “‘Hog?”

 

“You ate ‘em all.”

 

Junkrat’s fingers make an obnoxious popping sound as they leave his mouth. They’ve been driving for days now, weaving in and out of civilisation like they would thread a pattern through a stretch of fabric. The motorcycle, Roadhog muses, would make for an interesting needle.

 

“Oh.” Like a child, going on twenty-six and there’s still that youthful glint in his eyes, like Roadhog could present him with anything brightly colored and he’d be bouncing off the walls. “Next town? More yogurt?”

 

There are indeed lights up ahead, dwindling on the horizon they steadily approach down this lazy country road. The only source of light is the massive headlight, white and steadfast against the black stretch of road before them. Cornfields sway in the silent breeze either side of them, filling the air with the smell of the country - the grass, the sky, and nothing much else.

 

“Maybe,” grunts Roadhog, nonchalant. It’s late, yes, impossible to tell what time it is without the woes of civilisation at their ears. Junkrat shifts in the sidecar, stretching out his legs into the footwell with a yawn.

 

They ought to find somewhere to set up camp for the night, watch the stars while their destination sits on the east coast of Australia, still hundreds of kilometers away. The next town reads to be the ideal stop as they cruise through the quiet streets, Roadhog finds himself shy on the gas under his hand, careful not to wake the sleepy town they crawl through.

 

A nice place, he decides, somewhere undisturbed and soulful, pull of arrays of lights and gentle streets with soft green signage. The town square is a fountain and a small park, an old fashioned bell-tower at the head. Some places ask to be robbed; they breathe fear and unrest into the air like a virus, something which settles over the conscience of men. Roadhog has been an enforcer for years - there’s some shops you do shake up, there’s some you don’t.

 

Here is not one of those places, and the softness of the colorful lights don’t help his case as he steers them away from the town centre. It’s empty, positively so, absent of life until they creep towards the signposted local reservoir. There are cars parked all along the side of the road, filtering into the tiny car park.

 

On the air: the smell of snags, grog and something fizzy. Junkrat perks at the smell of food, even more so when Roadhog stops the engine once he guides the bike into a small gap between two parked cars. Not particularly fancy, vehicles, the trademark of people who have little, who have a bell-tower crowning the pride of their small country town.

 

“Are we crashin’ a party?”

 

“No.” The answer is immediate, Roadhog takes another look around and sees the glowing of torchlight off the reflective circus of the lake. There’s chatter in the air, if he listens closely. “We are crashing. Done for tonight.”

 

Junkrat frowns at the dirt, crossing his arms. He hasn’t moved from the sidecar. “I wanted more yogurt.”

 

“Too tired for this, ‘Rat.” Roadhog takes another look at the haze of firelight, orange and beckoning, then glances to the other direction. There is no path down to the water’s edge this way, which is why he starts off towards it, into the dark. “Grab the tarp, we’re camping here.”

 

“But-”

 

A massive hand beckons him, shoes gliding across the cool grass down towards the lake, and Roadhog is relieved to hear Junkrat shuffle, then start after him, hesitant footfalls against the asphalt of the carpark.

 

“Why here?” Junkrat joins him at his side eventually, as Roadhog takes a glance over across the lake - they are close now, the reflection on the water is clear, and there are masses of people across the way. They sit huddled in groups, cradled by the light of small fires between them, laughing and chatter floats across the air to reach them here in the dark. “S’little boring, isn’t it?”

 

“Quiet.” There’s a line where the grass turns to the mud of the bank, and that’s where Roadhog stops. His eyes are drawn from the collection of people - an explanation of why the town is so quiet - to Junkrat who hovers at his side, also looking at the gathering across the water. “Makes a change.”

 

They set up easy enough - a tarp across the ground, scratchy blankets from the wasteland that they could stuff into storage on the motorbike. Junkrat’s vibrating by the time he sits down, eyes darting between the collection of people and Roadhog, who’s testing the water of the lake with two bare feet.

 

“‘Hog,” he says.

 

“Yeah.” The water is cool, so is the dark which washes over them both.

 

“What are those people doin’, anyway?”

 

Roadhog looks up again, warmed by the sight of the gentle fires, the kindness of the atmosphere which floats across the water to them perched here. There are lights, he realises - the space has been decorated where the people sit sprawled on the ground: green illuminated trees hover between the groups of people, and sets of colorful lights stutter hesitantly to and fro in the trees behind them.

 

“Havin’ a party.” He looks back down, but can still see the quiet reflection in the water.

 

“That’s not a party.” Of course, Junker gatherings were a lot, _lot_ less civilised. There would be nothing gentle about a Junker party, nor would the care be taken to decorate it, or have it around somewhere as valuable as a water source. “Where’s all tha - tha shouting? Fighting? Ain’t nothin’ without a good brawl, see who’s on top, who gets all the good stuff.”

 

It’s times like these Roadhog feels more akin to a guardian than a bodyguard, taking this man’s hand and leading him through all the woes of life. Change is one of those things he has to sigh about, turn to Junkrat solemnly and-

 

 _Crack_.

 

They both freeze, and he sees the panic in Junkrat’s eyes center in his pupils like he’s slipped into a trance. Lights flash across the open water, suddenly, dwarfing out the gentle atmosphere of the fire lights. They’re green, then purple, then red-

 

Junkrat starts grinning.

 

 _Crack_. Roadhog turns back to the water to see the barrage in the middle of the water, steam rolling off it like waves of the ocean, and the remnants of a firework as it fizzles and falls from the sky.

 

“‘Hog! Is that - is that -”

 

“Fireworks,” he breathes, a confirmation to himself, to Junkrat who leaps off the tarp and joins him in the water, still with his shoes on. He’s jumping up and down, eyes wide, lights of the loud decorations which suddenly adorn the sky. “They’re - they’re fireworks, Junkrat. Part of a party.”

 

“The suits blow things up for fun, too?”

 

Another ones goes off, twirling this time through the air, Junkrat’s wide brown eyes follow its bright movements until it can no longer be tracked against the night sky. Roadhog feels a smile tug at his face beneath the untelling mask, and takes the vise of the moment to pull it from his head while they stand here. Junkrat doesn’t notice, he’s too busy staring.

 

The cold night air feels good against his skin, as does the unfiltered air that enters his lungs with the first deep breath he takes.

 

“Sometimes,” he answers belatedly, watching the light show - perhaps as mesmerised as his counterpart is as they stand here together.

 

It’s been a long while since bright light and loud noises meant something good, and since he’s been touched by the gentle atmosphere this lazy little town breathes. The last time he saw fireworks was….a long time ago, when he could smile at his daughter, take his husband’s hand into his and-

 

“I like this party,” Junkrat declares, and nudges a playful shoulder into Roadhog’s arm, gaze still cast to the sky as it lights up in all colors of the rainbow. “You chose a good camping spot.”

 

It’s the sincerest he’s heard the man speak for a while, ever since they left Junkertown behind to finally escape the clutches of Torigg - to get the datamine to the highest bidder in Sydney, then finally leave the country. Breaks like this, a reminder they are not the only people touched by the war, are a good lapse in the race across the continent.

 

“Thanks, ‘Rat,” he has to say.

 

By the time the display is over, Junkrat is calmer, able to take a seat on the tarp and announce he’s done for tonight. Roadhog tells him to dream of kinder explosions, that smile still lingering on his face. Roadhog watches from across the water as the people slowly filter off, back towards their parked cars, off to live another day as the party comes to a close.

 

They too leave town the next day, well-rested and with a tub of strawberry yogurt Roadhog buys Junkrat from the local grocery store despite the horrified stares he gets. It means nothing, given that he does not disturb the peace here, lets them have their parties and fireworks displays, the softly decorated lakeside and gentleness of the town square.

 

The bell sounds as they pass it again - and it all falls together when Roadhog takes a glance at the town city with its display. It flashes: 25 December 2079.

 

Explaining that to Junkrat, however, is time he will slot away another day. For now, they speed away from the sleepy little town, and back into the trek to Sydney as the crimelords they are supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> to clarify: the Torigg who was mentioned is the tyrannic leader of Junkertown, not a canon name and is entirely mine!
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
